It was a few Fridays back, and as is my habit, I am up early, a long black quietly taken as I peruse the overnight emails: increasing annoyance as my New York Times subscription delivers acres of coverage about ‘he who shall not be named!’ I really must cancel that subscription. Half an hour reading news bulletins and I am ready to broach the morning air.
I take the long route to the paper shop, an extra three-kilometre meander through the neighbourhood, which the medics assure me might add a few extra years before the big shuffle occurs. Sometimes there are cuttings for the taking: I found an unusually light-coloured geranium a few weeks ago, a quick nip at the back of the bush and it was mine.
I revel in the walk. I know several dogs, not by name but by temperament. There was Ugly, a God-forsaken Pekinese sort-of snuffly animal, always snotty, breathless and unapologetic as it waits for my passage past his letterbox. There is a ginormous Rhodesian Ridgeback a few streets further along. Her deep bark suggests aggression, undone as her tail wags furiously. I know her as Wagalot, and despite our close friendship, I admit to a certain amount of reassurance from the 1.5-metre-high fence that separates us.
Another few corners and I am at the small cottage, with its narrow strip of straggly grass and the insistent yapping of a stout-looking Dachshund. I have named him Gottfried, quite an annoying little dog. I’d hate to have him as a neighbour.
The curtains on the large front window of Gotfried’s cottage are open. I glance in, noting a bench press, weights and an exercise bike. I belatedly realise I am also looking at a rather overly-proportioned bloke on the bike, pedalling for all he was worth. A quick double-take. OMG, he’s stark naked! He glances in my direction and smiles.
I hurry on, my morning mood somewhat discombobulated. I am wondering if my glance offers some endorsement of exhibitionism. I assume those curtains were deliberately open!
My final woofa is a companionable Red Heeler. I have actually been introduced, her name is Shiraz and her companion is another early walker. We coincidentally arrive in the park at about the same time, and now acknowledge a shared interest in canines, gardening, cooking and friendships! If the sky looks benevolent, we head to the nearby café for a natter, lattes and a dog-a-chino water bowl, lubricating the opportunities for shared confidences.
I am about to mention my earlier exercising exponent’s exposure, but before I could, Shiraz starts a low growl. A large-framed person is approaching, and I recognise Gotfried trotting on a lead. The frame suggests male; the skirt, shoes and makeup suggest an alternative. As they pass, I am sure I see a sensually intended wink thrown in my direction.
I ponder events. I realise those open curtains were obviously an intentional offering. Albeit ever so brief, is my glance a gifted endorsement of his exposure?